The Death Korps of Remnant
by SoggyBlueToast
Summary: A member of the Death Korps of Krieg finds himself stranded on the world of Remnant. With everything he's ever known torn from him, he returns to what he knows best. Killing monsters. Can a child who has known only war find a place for himself in a world of bloody evolution.
1. Chapter 1

"Four frakking days!" Lord Commander Bellmont swore drunkenly. The other players that lounged around the regicide table didn't even blink at the sudden outburst, having long since become inured to the man's rambling on the subject. The potbellied man had made the exact same statement a few times in the last few hours, and Fleet Admiral Arnstein and Lord Commissar Neros were both sure the man would say it a few more times before the night was over.

Ignorant or uncaring of both his companion's apathy on the subject, the thoroughly swashed Lord Commander continued his tirade, "Four frakking days floating in the arse end of nowhere!"

He angrily slammed his hand down on the table, nearly jostling loose a few of the regicide pieces, "I have a god-damn war to win." He swore with growing intensity, "Do you think those stuck up Navigator freaks give a damn though? No, the only response I get from that bitch Minerva is that the 'warp moves unpredictably'. Do you think the Tyranids give a frak?"

Arnstein in attempt to draw the Lord Commander's ire away from the woman who was, although loosely defined, still technically one of his underlings spoke up calmly, "At least they said that the phenomena was clearing up, and we should be underway within the next cycle."

"Aye, there is that…" Bellmont grunted, his ire soothed by the reminder that at last the battle fleet was underway, still he spoke up with a degree of moroseness, "I just wonder how much of the segmentum the bugs have eaten while we sat stranded here."

Commisar Neros for his part, shrugged in resignation and decided to change the subject away from the likely doomed system they were now rushing to reinforce, "What about this world we stumbled across? The one with the shattered moon? I think the natives called it 'Remnant'?"

Bellmont saw the diversion for what it was, but accepted the change of topic anyway. He took a swig of his drink and sat back, "Yeah, it's a human world. They apparently have some issue with the local fauna that they call 'Grimm'. Has the whole lot of them living behind massive walls."

Neros sighed, "A death world if I ever heard of one."

Bellmont chuckled with cynical humor, no doubt thinking of his own homeworld, "Based on our preliminary scans the cog boys think it might have been settled sometime during the Great Crusade, and subsequently forgotten during the Heresy," The three men unconsciously made the sign of the aquila at the mention of that tumultuous time, "Although that could be a load of grox-shit because we only have a few orbital scans and a brief conversation over the comms to go off."

Neros raised an eyebrow, "Just over the comms? Shouldn't we attempt to you know? Bring them back into the fold? Bring the light of the Imperium to a forgotten colony"

The Commander and Admiral both turned to give him one of those looks. The sort generally reserved for new recruits when they said something particularly foolish. Considering Neros was a thirty year veteran he could have felt offended by that beyond a slight flush of his cheeks, but when he considered that both the Commander and Admiral each had another good thirty years of experience over his own he decided he wasn't particularly bothered. Neros knew he was a good soldier and a decent commander, but with his recent battlefield promotion to Lord Commissar, he was still ultimately a novice when it came to the grand games of high command.

"While it would be nice to 'bring them into the fold'" Bellmont said dryly, "We have the manpower for it, but don't really have the time to bother. We have a system to defend, and even if we did have the time… what's the point? This system is too far out of the way to be navigated to easily, and the world has nothing of great value to us."

Arnstien with deliberate slowness took that moment to add his own comment, "I have heard that they claimed to have… abilities." He said grimly, "I believe they termed it as 'Aura'? The power of the soul?"

None of the three men needed to explicitly say what he was implying. A large number of unsanctioned psykers was a threat to the imperium at large, no matter how far away they were. That would change things drastically. It would require contacting the Inquisition, if for no other reason than to notify the Black Ships.

Fortunately Bellmont just grunted, "Our pet witches haven't felt anything. If anything the bloody psykers said the world was far below average in regards to warp presence."

The Admiral and Commissar let out a barely audible sigh of relief at that.

Worlds with populations with next to no psyker population were rare, but they weren't unheard of. The theories for their existence ranged from anywhere between ancient xenos experiments, to the grace of the God-Emperor. It seemed that whatever this 'aura' the natives spoke of was, it wasn't warp based in origin. The origins of 'Aura' were interesting, but no more so than any other of the thousand odd things humanity stumbled across in the far reaches of space.

With a shrug Belmont returned to the Commissar's original question, "The Segmentum's being pushed hard and we're honestly scrambling to defend what we already have. No, I'm afraid all 'Remnant's' getting from us is a quick flyby."

Arnstein interjected calmly, "Fortunately or unfortunately for them, out here they are completely outside the borders of the rest of civilized space at large. It was a complete fluke that we came across them, and chances are it would be next to impossible for any of our known xeno scum to do the same."

Neros understood the logic behind it, but some part of him still felt it wrong. "So that's it? We show up out of the blue one day, send them all into a panic, have a quick chat, and then fly off without so much as a backwards glance?"

Belmont moved one of his own pieces, "Not entirely."

Arnstien looked up with a raised eyebrow, "Really? This is the first I'm hearing of any deviation from doing just that?"

As Admiral of the fleet he was only subservient to Belmont in practice. On paper as a member of the Imperial Navy he couldn't be commanded by Belmont who was a member of the Imperial Guard. In reality when it came to a system wide operations that required elements of both the Imperial Navy and Imperial Guard, the overall 'commander' of the operation was informally decided by seniority. It was one of those unwritten rules that allowed the Imperium to function as a relatively cohesive whole in spite of the bureaucracy.

Most of the time.

Belmont suddenly looked almost sheepish, a strange look on a man who was now pushing a ninety and commanded an army of millions of men, women and machines.

"I got forwarded a request a few hours ago. One of the cog boys requested to be sent down to the planet." He waved a hand dismissively, "You know how they get whenever there is even the remotest possibility of an STC fragment."

"So you let him?" Arnstien asked incredulously, "One man without guard on a foreign world. He'll more than likely be stranded there for decades if not forever!"

The Lord Commander sniffed with sudden contempt, "He wasn't entirely alone. I sent four guards with him as well as the pilot."

Neros took the opportunity to speak up, similarly shocked, not so much at the loss of the men, as they dealt in the death of men daily, but rather the fact that they had been lost at all, "So you stranded six men on a foreign world? For what reason? What if the natives steal their weapons or learn our secrets from them?"

Every little edge helped if it came down to a war, after all. Reverse engineering even a humble lasgun could have far reaching consequences if this world were allowed to stew long enough.

Belmont just grunted, "That would be fine. Warp, I actually ordered them to aid the natives."

"Fine!?" Neros asked as he physically resisted the subconscious urge to reach for his laspistol. He would never dare actually grasp his pistol in the presence of the Lord Commander, but a lifetime as a Commissar had ingrained the urge as an automatic response in him. The Lord Commander had spoken words that could have been considered heresy to a more dogmatic man.

"What would be 'fine' about giving away valuable imperial technology to godless primitives?" Neros asked with clenched teeth.

"They're human." Belmont responded sharply. Even in this informal setting he would have had any other man flogged for speaking to him so. Unfortunately, neither of these men were within his chain of command; Which ironically was the reason these informal Regicide games had started, they were a chance for them all to relax, away from the constant burden of their respective duties.

"So are the inhabitants of a thousand other worlds. It doesn't mean they're Imperial." Arnstien interjected more calmly than his younger compatriot, but still just as confused.

Belmont rose with an angry roar, knocking his chair back, "They're still human. I don't care what you think of me; a tiny shred of aid, six men, and a few casks of lasguns isn't even a drop in the bucket of what's contained in this fleet. If reverse-engineering that tech helps those people reclaim their world then I consider that a fine bargain. If those people ever come back to bite us in the ass in a few hundred years then I will give answers for my choices before the Golden Throne."

Almost as an afterthought he muttered, "Besides, it's not like those men will be missed."

Sudden understanding blossomed in the minds of the Admiral and Commissar.

This was about Vesuvius-Beta. It seemed everything these days was about Vesuvius-Beta when it came to Belmont. Neros couldn't help but wonder if it was guilt.

"You sent the Kriegers didn't you?" Neros asked with resignation.

Belmont sniffed, "They volunteered."

His casual dismissal of the disposal of six of the Emperor's soldiers over a petty grievance fired up the Commissar's anger, "Of course they always frakking volunteer. And you always send them."

"The drones want to die, and I'm willing to oblige them." The Lord Commander hissed venomously.

"They are loyal soldiers! Soldiers of the Imperium, some of the best." Neros shouted back just as venomously.

"Those 'soldiers'" Belmont snorted at the word, "are little more than wind-up toys and butchers!"

Neros wasn't happy with what happened on Vesuvius-Beta, but he at least understood it, "They did their duty!"

"Six million!" Belmot howled with fury. "Six million men, women and children!"

"You gave the order." Arnstien calmly pointed out.

"I asked for containment!" Belmont roared as he turned on the taciturn admiral, "Not what those blank faced monsters did."

The three men stared at each other, the Regicide game thoroughly forgotten.

"This isn't the end of this. Your vendetta against the Kriegers cannot stand." Neros said as he stood to leave, the amasec he had drunk now lying heavy in his stomach.

"Well if we survive this campaign, then you can bring my conduct before the Commissariat, but until such time, kindly keep your mouth shut Lord Commissar." The drunken Lord Commander yelled at the retreating Commissar's back.

* * *

Grenadier Watchmaster Armin watched the red robed tech priest across from him with slight contempt. Being a soldier of Krieg, Armin was adept at reading body language. It was a fact that many who were familiar with the blank faced people of Krieg would have found surprising. Armin didn't understand why. Just because Kriegers had no use for emotions of their own, did not mean they could find no use in being able to see the emotion in others.

Kriegers simply interpreted body language differently to others. When a people spent a great majority of their lives displaying next to no emotion, while wearing heavy overcoats and face concealing masks, it became only natural that they would learn to interpret body language differently. A member of the Death Korps would struggle to see the emotion in an angry snarl, but he or she would see the subtle tightening of the hands.

So when Armin watched the outwardly still form of the tech priest, he saw that where it seemed the man was calm, he was actually feeling incredibly agitated. His mechandrites twitched and twisted in a manner that distinctly spoke of pent up energy and nervousness.

Internally Armin was irritated by the lack of discipline shown by the adept of Mars. He supposed it was only natural though. A worshipper of the Omnissah could never possess the true steel of a loyal servant of the God-Emperor. Emotional dampeners were no match for tried and tested emotional conditioning.

Still, Armin had to reluctantly concede that a nervous tech priest aided no one. Efficiency would be lost if the behavior continued to affect the Adept. Drawing upon his meager social skills, Armin tried to refocus the tech priest on the task at hand.

"Magos Aldron, this soldier requests further elaboration on its unit's objective, as well as the current situation within the operation zone." He stated in a clipped monotone.

Instantly the Mago's body language turned from nervousness to the much more familiar irritation, condescension, and a barely hidden shred of fear most superiors displayed when dealing with the Death Korps. Armin was pleased. The Tech Priest was once more focused on the mission. As long as the Techpriest was focused on his mission, what he thought of the Death Korps mattered little.

As dead men walking they were beneath consideration after all.

"What have you been told?" The Magos asked in a voice that somehow managed to ooze condescension even through the Techpriest's communicator.

Armin responded with the typical Krieger emotionlessness, "We are making landfall on a planet known as Remnant. We will be landing at a remote military base in the kingdom of Atlas. Once we have arrived, we are to aid the natives in repelling the aggressive fauna known as Grimm via any means; this will likely take the form of encouraging technological development rather than direct military action." He droned while successfully hiding the minor distaste he had for aiding a world that was outside the bounds of the Imperium.

He had no place to judge the natives however. For them to have never known the Emperor's light meant that they had yet to truly step away from him. In that regard they already stood above the damned sons and daughters of the Death Korps. That they were human was enough for him to die in their defense, as was his duty, and as he had been commanded. For him to choose to violate that order because of his own opinions on the natives of Remnant, was a heresy most dire.

He would do as commanded.

The Techpriest remained ignorant of Armin's inner musings as the Watchmaster continued speaking, showing no signs of his inner thoughts, "Our immediate objective however will be to insure the safety of Magos Aldron. In the event Magos Aldron becomes beyond our reach, we are to aid the natives, unless it conflicts with an order from the Magos or any other ranking member of the Imperial Guard."

The Tech Priest seemed satisfied for the most part, but chose to add his own objectives, "While it is true that the Lord Commander ordered us to aid the natives, and even provide them with the blessing of the Omnissah's mighty advances," A small burst of binary issued forth at that statement, the tech priest equivalent of a disgusted snort, "Our primary objective is to search for any STC fragments that may be on the planet. We are also to investigate the technology of this world, even if it is an affront to the Blessed Omnissah, we may find some value in this 'Dust' resource that the natives are reliant on."

Armin nodded to show his understanding, "Understood Magos."

However the Tech Priest wasn't finished as he leaned forward to stare into the shaded lenses of Armin's skull mask, "If you happen to acquire any opportunities to study any of the technologies of this world, including this 'Aura', you are to take it. Anything we can learn now we may be able to put to-"

Anything else the Magos was going to say was cut off by the automated droning of the Arvus Lander's flight servitor.

"Warning, Warning. Incoming Fire. Warning, Warning. Incoming Fire." The flesh golem droned over the cabin's warning claxons.

"Attempting to Evade." The calm tone of the Krieger polite came through over the comms. "Evasion unlikely, prepare for impact."

The Kriegers were already bracing before the first words had left the Servitor's comms unit. While the Krieger Grenadiers tended not to make use of aerial insertions, they knew what to do in the event the lander they were in was taking fire. Typically that would a heavily armed and armored Valkyrie rather than an aging Arvus Lander, but the rules remained much the same regardless of the vehicle.

Unfortunately it seemed that the same could not be said for the Magos under their guard. The man had begun to panic in his seat, his mechandrites and limbs flailing impotently as their master's panic messed with the delicate logic engine of the mechanical limbs.

Deeming the man a danger to himself, Armin nodded to one of the Death Korps soldiers under his command, causing the man moved to unshackle his seat restraints and begin struggling through the shaking ship toward the Magos in an attempt to calm him down and tighten the man's restraints. The act would all but guarantee the man from the Death Korps would die in the event of a crash, but that was irrelevant. The only life on the vehicle that mattered was that of the Magos.

Unfortunately the man's actions were in vain, as the trooper had barely unfastened his restraints when the ships was rocked by a massive explosion and Armin felt them flip through the air as the Lander began to plummet. His last sight was the unrestrained trooper flying through the cabin towards him…

* * *

"You shot it down." Ozpin stated in a voice that betrayed none of the fury he was feeling. The first contact with an extraterrestrial race, admittedly a human one, but still, one that had proved amenable to aiding in their fight against the Grimm, and the Atlas military had shot down the aid ship they sent. He supposed it was fortunate that they were walking through the busy halls of an Atlesian military base, or he might have been tempted to physically throttle his fellow headmaster.

" _I_ did not shoot down anything Oz." Ironwood responded in a voice that likewise didn't betray any of the anger he was feeling. "The missile was launched by a rogue soldier who is now in custody."

Contrary to what his friend thought, Ironwood had been as ecstatic as his colleague, that the 'Imperium of Man' was sending examples of their technology, as well as an expert in their construction, down to Remnant to aid them. It had been a boon from the stars themselves.

He had recognized the possible threat as well. That was all it had been though, a possible threat. One that had to be recognized and planned for in the event the worst came to pass. It did not mean shooting down the aid sent by an interplanetary civilization in a fit of blatant paranoia. The fact that this had been a joint project between the two nations, and it had been Atlas that had messed up, made the situation all the worse.

He could only be both thankful and frustrated that Imperials had made it abundantly clear that they had their own pressing duties, and this would likely be the only aid, or contact at all, that they would be receiving from them in this generation. Which meant that Atlas didn't have to explain to a massive battle fleet that they had 'messed up' and shot down their delegation. The thought of _that_ conversation sent a barely perceptible shiver down his spine.

Ironwood wasn't a coward by any means, but he had no illusions as to the outcome of a war between the Imperium of Man and Remnant as a whole. It would be an unmitigated slaughter. The Imperials wouldn't even have to get out of their ships. A few rounds from orbit to put holes in their cities defenses, and the Grimm would swarm though and win the war for them within a week.

For likely the hundredth time that day he cursed the weapons operator who had apparently had an emotional breakdown at his station. Ironically the unstable man had only been operating those weapon systems because traditionally this base was far from the frontlines, and thus considered something of a backwater assignment. Somewhere to place soldier who had seen a little 'too much' in the line of duty and needed some time to rest and recuperate.

Apparently the idea of interstellar visitors had been sufficient to unhinge the man.

The base's isolated location was why it was supposed to have been the perfect place for them to meet the Imperial delegation without letting the general populace becoming aware of the veritable sword of Damocles hanging above their heads. The idea of a greater galaxy full of conflict beyond Remnant made the Grimm seem small in comparison, but it did not in any way inspire comfort.

"Has the Imperial fleet reacted in any way since the incident?" Ozpin asked as he took a sip of his ever present coffee.

Ironwood shook his head in the negative, "No, they left this morning, just as they said they would," Ozpin admitted with a mixed sense of relief and frustration. "Disappeared into one of those strange portals that they apparently use for FTL."

It all seemed so surreal. That one day a fleet of ships had simply popped out of the blackness of space, said 'hello', and then disappeared again. Apparently not to be seen again for a hundred years or so. Possible salvation or destruction, and it had just disappeared as easily as it had arrived.

Ozpin sighed, feeling the same relief and irritation Ironwood himself felt. Still he turned his thoughts back to the task at hand.

"So what can we recover from this debacle? Please tell me I did not stay awake for the last two days solid, just to be told we acquired some twisted bits of metal and some poor soul's pinky finger." Ozpin muttered with uncharacteristic grimness.

"No." Ironwood said with some relief, "Whatever else you could say about the Imperials, they build their ships to be tough. I suppose it was to be expected from a people who were willing to maroon seven of their own on an alien world for the rest of their days."

Some part of that still didn't sit right with him. Irownwood was a man used to the cold calculus of conflict, but ordering men to their possible deaths was a whole different can of worms as compared to ordering men to their inevitable death. Still, he wasn't an Imperial, and it was ridiculous for him to assume their values were the same.

"Oh?" Ozpin asked, visibly perked up by the idea that the whole event wasn't a complete loss.

"We were fortunate that it crashed not a few miles outside the walls. We were able to get in and grab everything of interest before any of the larger Grimm showed up. Unfortunately we had to leave the ship itself behind, but we are already getting a task force together to make a concerted effort to retrieve it. We found a few casks of what we believe to be weapons amongst the wreckage, and what appeared to be a computer that isn't dissimilar to our Scrolls."

Ironwood sighed, in irritation as he ran a hand through his hair, "Unfortunately our scientists are having some difficulty getting the casks or the computer to open without damaging the insides."

Ozpin found that to be something of an issue, but he was sure that the Atlesian and Vale scientists working in conjunction would be able to overcome the issue. Putting the weapons and computer to the back of his mind, he asked the next most obvious question.

"What of our tech expert? I assume he did not survive the crash? Did any of the crew survive?"

Ozpin looked over to his colleague, and noted at the subject change, the General's lips formed a thin line. After a few moments the General spoke in a tone that was heavy with distaste,

"We have one survivor. We think he might be one of the guards… but honestly I don't want to believe it."

Ozpin was confused by the man's cryptic tone, but he asked the obvious question anyway.

"Why would that be the case James? Is he some manner of super soldier? Something we could never hope to fight?" For all that Ozpin was considered the softer of the two, he was no less ignorant to the threat the Imperial's posed than his colleague. That didn't explain Ironwood's irritation though. Even if the guard was some manner of super soldier, it hardly changed anything. They already knew they were no match for the Imperials if it ever came down to a conflict.

Ironwood spoke through gritted teeth, "The reason I don't want to believe our survivor was one of the guards is because… He can't be older than fifteen, and he has more scars than I do."


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Months Later_

Armin observed everything around him as he followed the shaken, but stern, blonde woman. Behind his skull faced mask, Armin regarded the huntress with an air of disdain. It was an irrational feeling, fueled more by his distaste for her lack of faith, than his sense of duty, but still it remained. He hated it. It _ached_ within him like a hunger in his belly. All because of what that damnable Aura did to him, that damnable Aura that still existed within him, like a taint on his immortal soul.

Life outside the rigid hierarchies of the Death Korps was not good for him. Life had been simpler before. Not for the first time he wondered if he would not have been better served remaining in Atlas. The Atlesian way of life was a pale imitation of the Kriegan way, but it was the closest thing he could have found on Remnant. Unfortunately, if he still wished to serve Humanity, on the front as a _soldier,_ then Ozpin's proposal had been the only one offered.

However that meant awakening his Aura, which had sparked _something_ inside of him. The _power_ of the soul made him _feel_ things. Things he clamped down on with an iron will. Where before he had felt only shame and duty, now he could feel a myriad of things he had no name for. He endured them as any good Krieger should, but still they existed in a way they hadn't before.

He could see no other option however. If he was to act within his new role as a _hunter_ , then he required the use of the damnable Aura. It was a weapon, one that was needed. He had been ordered to aid the natives and investigate the power of Aura and Dust, and that is exactly what he would do. No matter how much it grated on him.

Returning his thoughts to the present, Armin idly wondered what this initiation would consist of. He had never attended a Progenium before. He had no doubt it would be a pale imitation of the glorious Scholas of the Imperium, but still in spite of himself he found himself curious. It was not an excitement as such, more a muted anticipation.

The woman in front of him was called Goodwitch, a name that tested the boundaries of his frayed patience. She was not aware of his true circumstances. As far as she was aware, he was a child from outside of the protection of the kingdoms, an orphaned nomad who had been transferred here on Ozpin's request. Regardless of what she believed his circumstances to be, she had made it clear that she was _not_ happy with his sense of dress, and had taken a dim view of his wearing a mask. When he had obediently removed it at her request, regardless of his own discomfort, she had gone very still and turned quite pale. Armin was used to that. It was a common reaction from those he had shown his face while on Remnant. He did not understand why. He possessed no mutations, and was fully functional.

After a moment he heard her mutter the word "Ozpin" under her breath, before reluctantly allowing him to wear his mask.

Confused, but content to once more be covered, Armin had followed the woman. The pair had walked in silence thereafter, and it did not take long for them to appear in front of a set of double doors, at which point Goodwitch made an approving noise as she pushed open one of the doors, allowing a number of voices to become audible from within.

"We are here," she stated. "The initiation is set to begin in a few minutes. Hurry."

Armin turned to go, but not before saluting the woman who was technically his superior, she startled at the movement, but eventually made a vague sign that might have been a salute.

Inwardly Armin bristled,

'Sloppy, just as expected of those who did not know the true light of the Emperor." thought Armin, before he walked through the doorway.

As he moved, he checked his equipment. His standard issue hell-gun, being the only weapon of its type recovered intact from the crash, had been taken from him to be studied at Atlas. Fortunately he had been spared the indignity of being relieved of his chainsword, and that rested easily and reassuringly at his waist.

He was fortunate that his trench coat could be fixed with the remaining parts of his deceased comrades. The fools at Atlas had the ridiculous idea that the Kriegers were to be buried with their uniforms once it became clear there was no advanced technology imbedded in them, aside from the Grenadiers helmet cams. How wasteful. It had taken Armin two hours to dig up their remains to salvage their equipment.

His 'minders' had looked on silently. No doubt ashamed of their own wastefulness.

The 'enginseers' who had worked on his replacement firearm had been confused by his specifications, but had built is as requested. If he had been a more emotive individual he might have laughed at the idea of a transforming weapon. It was only the enhanced effects of Aura that allowed the denizens of Remnant to make use of such unwieldy weapons.

Armin had no desire to be left so disadvantaged should he ever encounter a situation where his Aura was unavailable to him. If the situation ever switched to melee, which was all but a guarantee given the nature of the Grimm, he would switch to the bayonet on the end of his gun, or if time permitted, switch to his chainsword.

What he had requested instead was essentially an imitation of his hell-gun, which instead of firing lasers, ran on dust rounds that were fed from the pack on his back. It lacked the punch or even the ammo capacity of a hell-gun, but it was the best he could expect from such a primitive society. It was however, much more durable as well as lighter than his old weapon, apparently being made of more advanced materials than his own mass produced weapon. It was also able to switch firing modes, to a slow to charge, but potent single shot that was more akin to an anti-material weapon than an automatic small arm.

He supposed that added advantage somewhat mitigated the irritation he felt at the loss of his hell-gun.

If it weren't treason, Armin might have cursed the orders that had forced him to aid a world so far from the Emperor's light. As it was, the idea didn't even occur to him, the circumstances that had put him here were more akin to a force of nature within his mind. Orders were heard and obeyed, that was all there was to it. He had simply been unfortunate.

Armin had no idea if the Omnissah accepted the benedictions of a soldier to an unblessed weapon. Or even if a weapon made by hands other than the Mechanicus had a machine spirit. Still he chose err on the side of caution, and as he to entered the crowd of Progena, he uttered the 'Benediction of Accuracy' to the rifle that was strapped to the side of his ammo pack. The familiar action felt soothing to his sullied soul.

He drew some confused looks as he made his way through the crowd of Progena. He did not understand why though. If anything, he should have been the one staring at them for their garish attire and complete lack of discipline. A military force without a uniform? What a joke. At least Atlas hadn't sank that low.

He objectively understood that this was not Krieg, and that these were all new recruits; he had been to other worlds, Imperial worlds, filled with equally strange dress senses. Met peculiar regiments in the course of his duties, even the undisciplined thugs of Catachan, but even then, it did not forgive this whirling maelstrom of noise. This was a group of new recruits waiting to be addressed by their commander, not a… He didn't even know what to compare it to.

A mob of greenskins?

As he finished that thought, he finally found a spot where he could view the podium, while also having a clear line of sight on all the gathered Progena. It was unlikely he would need it, but this was an initiation, and he had no idea as to how it would work. Idly he hoped it would be a battle royale.

The chance to kill some non-believers would do much to soothe his raised ire. It was not a slight against those around him, as much as a need to slake a desire that had been ingrained into him. Kriegers fought and killed, even in training. It was all they knew. It was all they ever knew.

He was ready to fight and die for the good of humanity, but thinning out a few of the weak didn't go against that goal. His own graduation from basic training had been much the same after all. The assembled Kriegers had fought amongst each other, until only half of them remained. Insuring that Krieg only sent the best to fight and die in the Emperor's name. Armin still had the knucklebones of his first kill in a pouch in his uniform. Over the years they had been worn smooth as glass by his hands upon them.

"Hello?" A nervous voice called out to his left interrupting his musings.

Slightly startled and irritated that someone had managed to sneak up on him, clear proof of his agitation, and that this world was filled with too many… things, Armin turned to regard the person who had spoken to him.

She was female, armed with some manner of rifle, although that could change in an instant if it transformed. Whatever thoughts he had on transforming weapon's practicality, they still posed a potent threat. The girl was roughly his own age, clad in a red cloak reminiscent of the mechanicum, but Armin knew from experience that didn't necessarily mean she was a part of the machine cult, or had any aptitude for machinery. Her body language spoke of nervousness, but also a small amount of resolve.

He eyed her through his mask's lenses. Why was she was speaking to him? They were not superior and subordinate as far as was aware. What cause did they have to interact?

The seconds ticked on as he simply watched her, and she became more nervous and fidgety as he stared. To another person the silence might have been awkward, but Armin was completely oblivious to that sensation. For all his ability to read body language, that didn't necessarily translate to knowing the reason for someone's distress.

Finally after a full minute of staring at the girl, she spoke up, haltingly.

"I'm Ruby! Ruby Rose… and, well… I was, watching… you, you know."

She suddenly flushed and threw her hands up, "I mean, I wasn't watching you in a creepy way or anything! I mean, I noticed that you were alone, so I thought I could talk to you… or something?"

Armin for his part was utterly perplexed.

"Why?"

Armin didn't inject any anger or resentment into his tone; he wouldn't even if such a thing came naturally to him. For all his disdain for the unbelievers, he was actively trying not to generate ill will toward himself. He was representing the Imperium at large here after all, even if none of those around him knew it. To him it was an honest, genuinely curious question. Unfortunately, the distinct monotone of a Krieger, especially when coming from the quite intimidating skull mask of a soldier of the Death Korps, was generally considered unpleasant, and aggressive in its blandness.

Ruby nearly squeaked when the strange gas masked boy spoke, but with a clench of her fists, she bolstered her will. She could do this! Yang was watching and everything. Her older sister, as a joke, had pointed the trench coated boy out as a potential friend, but Ruby had taken it as a challenge. If she could make friends with the scary guy, then she could make friends with anyone.

Now that she was actually here though… Maybe she should have gone for Vomit Boy.

"Well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted a friend, or something?" She flushed with embarrassment, "Maybe me?"

Inwardly she cheered for not stuttering this time. Maybe she was getting better at this socializing thing?

It must be the milk!

For his part Armin was intrigued. One of the objectives the man named Ozpin had given to him was for him to gain friends. The man had claimed they would become a source of strength. Armin had little enough understanding of the word, given there was no direct comparison to it in the Kriegan dialect of High Gothic, but he understood it to be some manner of loosely defined squad mate or ally. He had intended to acquire one for study, and this girl in front of him had just claimed that she could become one, if he gave his consent.

"Yes, you shall be my friend." Armin said as firmly as his emotionless tenor allowed.

He would not allow this child to escape now that she had revealed herself as a friend. She was now an objective to be guarded or secured depending on her temperament. Truly the Emperor's will was clear here.

Ruby nearly jumped for joy when the strange boy said he would be her friend. She did it! If she could make friends with this scary guy she could make friends with anyone. She was probably the best socializer ever.

In your face Yang!

Abruptly she flushed as she realized that in her excitement she was just standing there staring at her new friend.

"Ah, that's great. I was worried it would be hard to make friends at Beacon. I'm usually not that good at socializing." She chuckled as she rubbed the back of her head, "I'm Ruby Rose."

"Armin." The gas masked boy grunted in that strange voice of his. He was confused by this sudden meaningless input of information, but it was clearly part of the 'Friend' process that he had yet to understand. He could only hope this part of the process didn't last for too long.

"Just Armin?" Ruby asked with a tilt of her head.

"It is just Armin. I possess no last name." He said firmly.

Not quite true Armin reflected. He did have a last name, it just happened to be a stream of digits and numbers. It was something he had been instructed not to mention. Apparently that was unusual on Remnant, yet another sign of their gross inefficiency.

"Ah, that's… nice?" Ruby asked honestly at a loss as to how to respond to that, but she quickly shrugged it off and directed her new friend in the direction of her shocked sister.

"Come on Armin, I'll introduce you to my sister."

As he followed his new 'friend', Armin wondered at the character of this 'sister'. He knew of siblings on a theoretical level. For him they existed in much the same way as the annual yield of crops from Krieg; something that no doubt at one point affected him, but ultimately was a complete unknown he would never experience or meet. Kriegers were divided at birth after all. He did not know what manner of interaction siblings were supposed to possess. Was it a superior/subordinate relationship, or was it more akin to the loose relationship between Commissar and Colonel?

He did not know, but he would do his best to put in a good impression, so as to facilitate maximal efficiency amongst his new allies.

The sister as it turned out, was a blonde girl, roughly a few years older than his new 'friend'. She had long blonde hair, which instantly downgraded Armin's opinion of her. That length of hair was practically a death trap, just waiting to be caught in a foe's hands. As he looked at the garishly yellow woman he made a mental note to inform his new ally that she should cut her hair post haste.

Other than that, and the fact that she had a pair of bright yellow gauntlets, he had little else to say about her. Much like all the other Progena present, her choice of clothing was impractical for combat. Absently he wondered why so few people on Remnant wore armor. Aura was only one layer of protection, and it could be depleted, in which case a second layer of protection would be invaluable. Even something as simple as a helmet or knee guards, could potentially save a soldiers life many times over their career.

"Hey there big guy!" The blonde monstrosity called out to him, rallying from whatever surprise she felt earlier, "I see you've made the acquaintance of my adorable little sister."

"Yes. Ruby is now my friend." He replied as he observed her body language to gauge some idea of her thoughts, "I assume this is acceptable?" He added in as respectful tone as he was capable of, which was to say he didn't shout it.

Yang looked confused by his words, wondering if Ruby's new friend was a few forks short of a cutlery set, but after a moment, nodded with a teasing grin, "Sure thing big guy. Just don't do anything funny to my cute little sis and everything's cool."

Armin had no idea what the temperature had to do with anything, but he nodded in turn. A swift nod generally tended to resolve most social situations he didn't understand, and it served him well here, as the blonde woman did that teeth baring thing that he was learning people tended to do when something pleased them. It rarely happened around him.

She was wary of him, which was wise, but not outright hostile. This was also wise. Irregardless of her position, she did not want a member of the Death Korps as her enemy.

"You don't talk much do you big guy?" Yang asked as she looked up at the skull mask. She deliberately moved into his personal space in an attempt to get some reaction out of the stoic student, the only reaction she got was a slight nod to her earlier query. Otherwise he remained completely still. Like a machine at rest.

Unfortunately she couldn't take her investigation any further, as near instantly Ruby recognized what she was doing and leapt to her new friend's defense.

"Yang! Don't scare off Armin!" Ruby interjected indignantly, "He's just shy is all."

Yang just grinned and ruffled her sister's hair as she looked up and down the skull faced and completely covered boy in front of her. That was definitely Ruby projecting, rather than a rational statement. For all Ruby's battle smarts, she was utterly clueless in a social setting; adorably earnestly clueless, but still clueless.

She really didn't think this guy was shy. If he was actually shy, then he was certainly taking it to the next level. She would keep an eye on him to be sure, but until he actually 'did' something, she would withhold judgement. He certainly wasn't her first choice of friend for her social challenged little sister, but who knew what could happen. It was possible the two clearly socially stunted people would complement one another. One talked too much, and the other too little.

Ruby turned to him to say something, but she was cut off as a commotion occurred in the crowd around them. Armin nearly sighed in relief as any further conversation was mercifully forestalled as Ozpin reached the podium and cleared his throat, easily gathering everyone's attention. Beside him, the blonde woman, Goodwitch stood with a Scroll held in her hands. Without any pre-amble, the gray haired man started off on a briefing about the forest below, and what the gathered progena were here for.

The briefing essentially boiled down to a combat drop into hostile territory, followed by a trek toward the objective. The objective in question was a relic of some kind. The relic was contained in a large temple in the northern part of the forest.

Armin was happy with that. It was a live-fire exercise that had a real risk of casualties, and would teach the involved Progena the realities of war. He was especially happy with the rule that a Progena was supposed to partner with the first person they made eye contact with. In the Death Korps, squads had to be constantly reconsolidated in the field as casualties mounted. This was clearly training for just such an eventuality.

It seemed the people of Remnant were not as soft as he had feared.

Although, he noted that the Headmaster didn't specify how they were going to be deployed. Perhaps they were going to make use of one of those 'Bullheads'?

* * *

Armin landed awkwardly, but he managed to roll, transferring his momentum from a downward angle to a lateral one. As he rolled back to his feet he was near instantly bodily knocked over again as he collided heavily with a tree. Much like in his fall though, his Aura protected him. Without so much as a grunt, or even a shred of embarrassment at his ungainly landing, he regained his footing and raised his weapon to survey his surroundings.

As he surveyed the forest around him, he mused that it seemed that the denizens of Remnant had _much_ more steel in them than he had given them credit for. Launching potential students without warning from a catapult system, without giving them any form of grav-chute?

Genius.

Naturally the inclusion of Aura made such a suicidal delivery method merely risky, but it still forced a potential student to steel themselves against a sudden change in circumstances while under duress. Something that Armin grudgingly admitted he had failed in. He had been spun round and collided with a number of branches during his fall. If he had encountered a pack of Grimm while landing, he would be at a severe disadvantage, if not killed outright.

It was irritating, but true. For all of his talent and experience as a soldier of Krieg, the use of Aura was still new to him. The sudden change in speed and verticality of movement it offered had him trailing behind what he imagined his peers were capable of. He was learning, but it was not an instant process. Perhaps if he had been an Elysian the change would be easier, but the Death Korps had ever been trained in a more deliberate and slow fighting style, one that was anathema to the free flowing form Elysian's practiced. The sudden change to a three dimensional system of movement was not easy for him.

He had even seen some of the other Progena make use of their weapons as impromptu thrusters. The idea would never have even occurred to him, and even now that he knew it was possible, it still seemed ridiculous. It was just so… impractical. Weapons had one use, and one use alone. Killing. Efficiently and with minimal effort.

Why did everything on Remnant then seem to have multiple applications? If every tool was supposed to be used in multiple ways, was the same expected of the people using them? Was Armin expected to be something other than a soldier?

Irritatedly shrugging off his idle thoughts, Armin advanced deeper into the forest. He knew roughly which direction the ruined temple was in, so he moved at a fairly steady pace, but all the while his rifle scanned his surroundings. The forest was deceptively quiet, making it seem as if there was no danger present. The Grenadier was not fooled. The Grimm may not have had the ridiculous adaptability of Tyranid bioforms, or the raw unfeeling power of the Necrons, but Armin respected the danger they represented all the same. The Grimm would kill him just as surely as those other foes if he became overconfident or complacent.

A sudden silence fell over the nearby wild-life causing Armin to crouch low, furiously scanning the tree line for the disturbance. After a few moments, he heard the tell-tale crunch of leaves from ahead of him. He suspected it was a student based on the rhythm of the steps, but he refused to risk himself unnecessarily by acting rashly. A contrast to the usual thought process of the Death Korps, but the warriors of Krieg did not waste their lives pointlessly. They spent them willingly, but not wastefully. It just so happened that the universe more often than not required the Death Korps spend on mass.

' _Grimm or Progena?'_ He pondered as he honed his weapon in on the direction the sounds were coming from. He supposed it mattered little in regards to how he would advance. He couldn't ignore it either way.

The density of the forest was a double edged sword however. It concealed him from the target he was stalking, but it also inhibited his own vision. Fortunately it seemed the Emperor was with him, because he caught a sudden flash of movement just ahead of him.

Armin crouched once more. A quick scan of his surroundings showed he had a more or less clean line of fire in the event he had to engage. A small treacherous part of him wanted to engage first, but the greater, more analytical, part of him pointed out that a possible friendly fire incident was too risky to ignore in favor of gaining a minor advantage over a possible foe.

"Ally?" He grudgingly called out. His monotone voice was slightly husky, unaccustomed as it was to shouting.

In retrospect he wished the headmaster had given them some call signs to identify ally or enemy. Combined with the lack of uniforms, it seemed that Beacon had awful operational security. Just about anyone could wander into this operation, pretend to be a Progena, and the recruits on the ground would have no way of knowing otherwise.

Still, the fact that his target hadn't immediately barreled towards him ruled out the possibility of it being Grimm. The fact that it hadn't fled in the other direction also suggested that it wasn't some other manner of wildlife. Regardless, he remained ready to fire at the first sign of hostile movement.

"Ally." A voice called back after a few moments of tense silence. Armin was not particularly sure, but he almost thought the voice sounded disappointed, or perhaps resigned.

With a rustle, a red headed female stepped out of the bushes Armin had been aiming at. With disgust he noticed that much like the 'sister' from earlier, the woman had long easily grabbed hair. He had been unfortunate in his choice of partner apparently. He would have to request she rectify that failing at her earliest convenience.

He remained steady in his aim throughout his observations. Only once the woman was fully exposed, and clearly not hostile, did he lower his weapon. If the lightly clad female noticed his reticence, she didn't say.

"We are partners now," He stated monotonously, "I am called Armin. There is no last name."

With his part said, Armin raised his weapon once more to scan the tree line.

Pyrrha for her part was taken aback by the grim business-like tone of the boy before her. She had seen him before of course, pretty much everyone from the first years had noticed the peculiarly dressed boy, but at the time she had been talking to the Schnee heiress and hadn't been able to get away to speak to him or meet anyone else at all really.

Aside from that boy, Jaune.

"Ah?" She said awkwardly, "I suppose we are partners then. It's nice to meet you, I'm Pyrrha Nikos."

She waited a moment after saying her name, but rather than the sudden fawning or awe she expected, all she received was a curt nod of the head. Well, that was good she supposed. This 'Armin' was a bit gruff perhaps, but she would take that over a ravenous fan any day. A large part of her was still disappointed that she hadn't managed to partner with Jaune, but she supposed she _had_ originally just wanted to let the chips fall where they may.

Still, this did leave her with a slightly awkward conversation to have, especially considering she was a four time tournament champion. Before she could bring it up to her new partner, he turned abruptly toward her; that peculiar skull mask bodily latch twisting toward her. She wouldn't say it aloud, but she honestly found the effect rather creepy. More than a little dehumanizing too.

Actually now that she thought about, she had no idea what her new partner even looked like. She knew he was tall, but that was honestly about it. Was he pale? Tanned? Human? Faunus?

"Where is your offensive weapon? Is it incorporated into the shield?" Armin asked suddenly.

Pyrrha was again taken back by that strange monotonous voice, but answered anyway,

"Ah, actually I kind of threw it. I saw a Grimm and tried to take it down, but I missed. I was actually moving to recover it when we met." She said with a small awkward laugh.

She had actually attempted to use it to save and pin Jaune Arc in place, but a sudden gust of wind had thrown her aim off slightly causing Milo to miss by more than a few meters. She didn't see what happened to the Jaune after that, but she hoped he was ok.

She half hoped Armin would laugh with her, but instead he simply unhooked a peculiar boxy chainsaw thing from his waist.

'Does he have a ranged _and_ a melee weapon?' She wondered as she regarded his similarly boxy rifle, 'Why not just have one multi-purpose one?"

"Are you familiar with a weapon such as this?" He asked as he presented the handle to her.

Pyrrha took, what she now realized was a sword, and gave it a few one-handed practice swings. It was clearly well cared for, and had seen a lot of use if the many nicks present were an indication. It was also surprisingly well balanced, even more so than her beloved Milo. After a moment she thumbed the button on the handle, and was surprised again by just how quiet the blade was as the teeth started to spin. Armin must have oiled it religiously for that.

A few more practice swings, and she felt confident that she could use the weapon passably. With a grateful grin she turned back to her partner,

"Yes thanks, I can use this for now. What's its name?"

The boy turned to her again, and she could have sworn there was a deadpan expression under that mask when he answered simply, "Sword."

She giggled at the joke, but stopped after a few moments when she realized he wasn't joining in. Evidently Armin wasn't one for jokes. Or names.

Before she could say anything else, Armin turned and gestured in the direction she had been heading toward before they met up.

"Take point, we will recover your weapon and then recover the relic."

He could have been a bit more tactful about it, but he had just loaned her his secondary weapon, which was something she knew some people could be a bit finicky about. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, so in light of that she simply advanced into the forest with a nod.

As she felt the weight of the peculiar weapon in hand her hand, she supposed she could have done worse as far as partners went. It wasn't exactly the friendship she had in mind, but it was early days, and Armin would no doubt become a bit more personable after they had been around each other for a while.


End file.
